


Lumière

by QuickLikeLight



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Future, Clothes Porn, M/M, Porn with Feelings, Wedding Fluff, Wedding Night, Weddings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-16
Updated: 2016-07-16
Packaged: 2018-07-24 09:52:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,269
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7503802
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QuickLikeLight/pseuds/QuickLikeLight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He hadn’t thought it would be that much of a change; they’ve been living together since they started college, and sharing a bed since sophomore year. There’s something about knowing that Scott’s his husband, though, that lights him up inside in ways he never would have expected.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lumière

**Author's Note:**

  * For [anomalagous (bamfsback)](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=anomalagous+%28bamfsback%29).



> This is a commission for LC who asked for loving smut and got a wedding night. LC, I hope you love it, and I love you! <3 Song title and influence from Ed Sheeran's "Tenerife Sea" which is pretty hetero sounding but whatever I love it.
> 
> For commission information, please see my [tumblr](http://quicklikelight.tumblr.com/post/147314889776/its-that-time-again-folks-what-time-the-time).

Stiles scrapes the last of the frosting from his plate, licking it off of his fork in a way that’s probably not appropriate, but his dad’s the only one paying attention anyway. Who cares what Dad thinks is appropriate? He loosens his tie before thinking twice and just taking it off completely, stuffing it in the pocket of his nice summer jacket that’s draped over the back of his chair. He looks instinctively for Scott, half to make sure Scott won’t fuss about the tie and half just to see him.

It should be hard to find him in the crowd of similarly-dressed young men - Scott ditched his jacket and tie both about an hour before, and his shirtsleeves have been rolled up to the elbows as a concession to the warmth of late California spring - but Stiles’ eyes find him instantly. It would be even easier to miss the slim gold band on his ring finger, but Stiles is looking for it, and smiles when it catches the light. Scott’s trousers fit excellently, grey wool hanging just right over the slight curves of his ass and thighs, held to his slim hips with suspenders. One suspender is twisted, and Stiles watches as Kira fusses with it until it’s smoothed back out, the strap laying flat against his broad shoulder. They take a picture together, posed sweetly for Malia’s camera, and in another world he could imagine her dress lighter, and longer, and himself on the outside looking in.

That is not this world, thank goodness.

“You better go grab him for a dance,” his dad says, and it’s like magic how he always knows when a slow song’s coming on. He winks at Stiles and gives him a little push across the dance floor as if Stiles needs pushing.

“Can I steal him?” Stiles asks, but Kira’s already migrated to Malia’s side, and Scott’s grin softens to something so fond and dear Stiles can barely look at it, like looking into the sun.  

“I think he’s yours,” Malia teases. “Isn’t that what today was all about?”

“Yeah,” Stiles agrees, wrapping his arms around Scott’s waist and pulling him close. He presses their foreheads together, bodies swaying slow to the soft sounds coming from the speakers at the edge of the little parquet dance floor set up in Scott’s mom’s backyard. Soft strings of light are hung all around, and it’s just bright enough for Stiles to make out the way Scott mouths the words to the song, the way his eyes are bright and glassy with tears he’s been holding back off and on all night. Stiles just holds him tighter, nuzzling their noses together like they’re the only people in the room, not surrounded by everyone they know and love. The chorus starts, and Scott’s mouthed breath gets voice as he sings along, soft and low,

_And should this be the last thing I see_

_I want you to know it's enough for me_

_'Cause all that you are is all that I'll ever need_

_I'm so in love, so in love_

“You think we can make our escape yet?” Stiles asks. He’s sure his own eyes are red-rimmed and his mouth trembles with the feelings that have been washing over him like the tide since they turned around earlier, hand in hand, and Alan Deaton proclaimed them wed in the eyes of God and California. He hadn’t thought it would be that much of a change; they’ve been living together since they started college, and sharing a bed since sophomore year. There’s something about knowing that Scott’s his _husband_ , though, that lights him up inside in ways he never would have expected.

“It’s our party,” Scott says with a grin. “I am pretty sure we can leave when we want to.”

“That’s what I’m asking, if you want to.” Stiles can’t help but laugh as he says it, even as he knuckles away a tear.

“Much like the marriage proposal,” Scott says, teasing glint in his eye, “I thought you’d never ask.”

“I’m never living it down, am I?” Stiles asks with the air of bemoaning an ill fate.

“Not as long as I’m here to remind you that it took _six years_ ,” Scott says. “I’m tired of waiting.”

“Wait no more, then.” Stiles leads him off the dance floor that parts for them, friends smiling and clapping as they make their way toward the house through a veritable sea of tables and chairs and well-meaning party guests. Just as they get to the back door, Scott grabs his shoulder and turns him around to see the sea of sparklers their friends have lit, a sparkle-shower send off that lights Scott’s face up. Stiles kisses him, earning them a cheer from the onlooking crowd, and then opens the door. “Mr. Stilinski-McCall, after you.”  

 

“Sure you don’t want to just go to bed?” Scott teases as they walk in the door. The apartment is dark and cool after being outside all evening. Stiles’ answer is caging Scott against the door and kissing him, hot and sweet, mouths still tasting faintly of buttercream icing and pink lemonade. They’re barely inside but he can’t take it anymore, the buzzing that’s been building under his skin since their last dance reaching a fever pitch. Scott moans and the soft little sound just keys him up further, makes it harder for him to keep from tearing all the buttons off of Scott’s nice new wedding shirt.

“Don’t you do it,” Scott says, like he knows what Stiles is thinking - and of course he does, Scott usually knows his bad ideas before he does, has already thought of them and decided before Stiles even starts convincing him.

“It’s just a shirt,” he tries, but then Scott’s slipping out from between his arms and walking backward through the apartment, undoing those buttons one at a time. Without werewolf senses Stiles can barely see him, but it doesn’t matter - Stiles has seen this move often enough that he can picture perfectly the way Scott’s nimble fingers push the buttons through the holes, out of any sort of rhythm but somehow still reminiscent of dancing. He follows Scott’s lead, prowling after him in the dark like Stiles is the one with a wolf in his blood, all the way to the messy bedroom they’ve shared for the past three years. Tomorrow there will be airports and suitcases and tropical climes, but tonight is just them in sheets that know them well.

The little lamp they always leave on isn’t enough light for what Stiles wants - to see Scott laid out bare on their bed, completely visible - but it’s enough to watch Scott slip out of his suspenders, slide his shirt off his shoulders. Every move is sinuous. It’s not calculated, just the easy way Scott moves now that he’s not a clumsy kid or a teenager at war with his body. He reaches forward for Stiles, and Stiles goes to him without hesitation, slipping into Scott’s arms and mouth. Stiles kisses urgently, forcefully, pushing until Scott’s falling back on the bed with a laugh and clinging to Stiles’ shoulders to keep close.

“Careful, careful - what’s the rush?” he asks, but the way his hips roll up to meet Stiles’ says something different.

“We’ve only got nine hours until our flight,” Stiles says, unbuttoning his own shirt and tossing it across the room. He strips quickly, no finesse to it, but he knows Scott doesn’t care - he’d rather have Stiles naked regardless of how he got there. “If my plan is going to work out we need every minute.”

“Oh yeah?” Scott grins, unbuttoning his trousers and pushing them down, revealing his boxer briefs underneath. “And what plan is that?”

“Well, first I’ll fuck you,” Stiles says, and leans down to capture his mouth in a quick kiss. “And then you’ll fuck me. And then we’ll sleep for your minimum recommended four hours, and get up in enough time to get to the airport right as it opens, and at some point I’ll blow you in the bathroom probably.”

“Probably?” Scott’s eyes are liquid dark, but they flash at his words. “‘Probably’ doesn’t sound like much of a plan. Sounds like you’re lacking some conviction here, Stiles.”

“Definitely blow you in the bathroom, sorry,” Stiles says, words muffled - he’s far more concerned with kissing down Scott’s jaw than speech. He trails kisses over the collarbones he’s been aching for all night, down one of Scott’s soft pecs toward the trail of hair that leads down, down to what he really wants. Scott’s already hard, briefs tented obviously as the head of his cock pushes at his waistband. Stiles can’t help but tease, mouthing over the length of it through the soft cotton, pulling a groan from Scott. Fingers twine into his hair and Stiles loves this part, loves when Scott pets him and encourages him as he pulls Scott’s waistband down and wraps his lips around Scott’s full, leaking head. His mouth moves of its own accord, setting a pace he knows Scott likes but won’t send him over the edge. Wet, slick, up and down, suckle and lick, over and over until Stiles’ mouth is wet and red, lips a wreck, voice hoarse when he asks, “Lube?”

Scott tosses it to him, and Stiles adds fingers to the mix, slicking them and rubbing the lube over Scott’s hole with the utmost care. Scott loves his fingers, arches and moans as Stiles slides in one, then another, rubbing just past his prostate on every slick slide in and out.

“Stiles - yes - yes - please -” Scott begs, hands curled tight in Stiles’ hair, and it takes everything Stiles has to stop and pull away, swirl his tongue around Scott’s head one last time and pull his fingers free of Scott’s gorgeous little ass. He has to stretch his own muscles out, back cramping just a bit from where he was bent over Scott’s lap.

“No no no no,” Scott pleads, before he sees Stiles spreading lube over his cock and thinks better of it. “Wait - yes, please, fuck me Stiles, want you in me.”

The lamplight gilds Scott’s skin, lighting it just enough that Stiles can make out the definition of his muscles, all his little curves and edges. His body is so familiar Stiles could trace it in pitch darkness, but it still feels new, looking down on him like this.

“Please,” Scott asks again, arms open to him. Stiles doesn’t make him wait any longer. He hitches Scott’s hips into his lap and sinks in with a few slow, steady thrusts, until he can curl over Scott’s body and kiss him, mouth still tasting vaguely of Scott’s pleasure.

They move together in a rhythm they both already know, established long before but somehow more sacred tonight. Scott’s legs wrap around his waist, Stiles’ arms tremble as he holds himself up, every breath feels hotter, winds them higher than it did when they made love yesterday. Yesterday they weren’t married. Yesterday Scott wasn’t _his_ in the way Scott is his now, the way they belong to one another today and tomorrow and every tomorrow after that. Stiles moves his hips slow and steady, building the pleasure between them until Scott’s squirming, panting, crying out for something more to tip him over the edge.

“Please, please, I need - Stiles I need -” he begs, voice barely a whisper.

“What do you need?” Stiles asks, even though he knows - he just likes making Scott say it, likes the way his cheeks flush deep pink with embarrassed arousal as he stretches plump, beautiful lips around the words.

“I need you to - please say it - you know what I need,” he says, and Stiles gives in instantly. He can’t ever deny Scott what he really needs. One hand snakes down between them, taking Scott’s wet, leaking cock and stroking it in long pulls counter to the strokes of his hips. He knows that’s not what Scott’s really asking for though. Instead, he wants -

“I love you.”

Scott closes his eyes, his teeth dug into his bottom lip, hands clutching at Stiles’ shoulders as he says the words. He rocks up into every thrust of Stiles’ hips, of Stiles’ hand, up to kiss his cheek with lips made sloppy with want. He moans, soft and desperate and begs for more.

“Please, please -”

“I love you, Scott.”

He tightens around Stiles’ cock, body drawing up all over, pleasure washing over his features in a way that looks almost painful it’s so intense. Stiles pushes harder, strokes faster, words spilling from him as pleasure crests for him too.

“I love you so much. I love you, you’re all mine, I love you - come for me, I love you -”

They fall over the edge together, panting the words into each other’s mouths, too worn out to do much else. Stiles pulls out slowly and collapses half on top of Scott in the bed, breathing deep of scents he knows and loves. It’s long minutes before either of them speak, and even then it’s just Scott whispering the words of the song from the dance floor again, obviously taken with the tune. Stiles just listens and waits, lets the song fade out to nothing but deep, slow breath, until he’s sure Scott’s almost asleep.

“Maybe move the four hours of sleep to about... now,” Stiles gives in, snuggling close with a soft smile. “The plan can wait.”

Scott nods, sleepy, and turns out the lamp. After all, they have time. They have the rest of their lives.

**Author's Note:**

> Your feedback is valuable to all fic writers, and I'm no exception. If you enjoyed this story, please let me know.
> 
> Come find me on [tumblr](http://quicklikelight.tumblr.com).


End file.
